Dutch the Clutch? How About Shawn the Prawn?
by mermaid2bseeker
Summary: Shawn day as a restaurant's shrimp went from boring to worse. Takes place season 1, after Shawn vs. the Red Phantom.


Dutch the Clutch? How About Shawn the Prawn?  
by mermaid2bseeker

Written for the psychfic community Feb 2009 challenge prompt: A good idea at the time

MUST INCLUDE:  
1. An alias (I have three aliases, aliasii(?))  
2. Chief Vick  
3. Someone wearing an animal costume (are shrimp animals?)

* * *

"Hola! Me llamo Tonto Vaca La Grande. Benvenido a MexiCali's Fried Seafood Restaurante. Can I interest you in the shrimp special?"

Another customer, another exchange of money for crappy fast food. But the rent had to be paid and it seemed the crime lords of Santa Barbara had all migrated north for the winter, or was it south? No, they wouldn't go to Mexico, so it must be north. Either way, another hour of waiting on people who couldn't make up their minds and Shawn would be tempted to add assault with a deep-fried fish patty to his already extensive unwritten record of crimes-committed-while-in-the-pursuit-of-his-job.

"Hola! Me llamo Pablo Enchilada Inglaterra. Benvenido a MexiCali's Fried Seafood Restaurante…"

God, this outfit really chafed. And it was ruining his hair. Really, what kind of restaurant (re: bad fast food joint) forced their employees to wear giant shrimp costumes? It was a crime against fashion. At least it was almost closing time. He might be able to get away without anyone he knew spotting him. It was going on a whole week, since he started, actually, that he was able to avoid being recognized. Thank god. He did not want to be remembered as Shawn the Prawn.

"Hola! Me llamo La Via Lactea en un Plato de Cereal. Benvenido a MexiCali's Fried Seafood Restaurante. Can I interest you—"

"You're the Milky Way in a Bowl of Cereal?"

Aw crap. He knew that voice.

He looked up from his idiot-friendly computer screen. "Chief!" Damn, he was caught red-tailed dressed as a horrible atrocity against life-sized marine biology.

"What are you doing here?" Her hair was free from its professional bun and there were no stress lines around her eyes, so he guessed she must be on her way home from work, instead of on a break. It was her normal leaving time, which led to the conclusion that the SBPD had no vital cases open. Which meant he had nothing to beg/com his services onto. All these clues led to the soul-wrenching realization that he would have to spent many, many more days dressed as an anemic shrimp.

"Well, the crime rate may be down, but my rent's not." Darn that beach-front property. Darn it all to heck. It may be totally awesome but it was a real drain on his accounts. "So what can I get you?"

"I'll have the number three, to go." Karen opened her purse to remove her wallet.

"That'll be $4.53."

As Shawn was making change for her five, he noticed the customer two behind her was fidgeting nervously. He was giving off really bad vibes; though, benefit of the doubt, he might just need to pee. Nope, there was the wide-eyed look of a man about to do something really, really bad for the first time. His hand gripped something large and heavy in his hoodie pocket. Karen had her back to him, so she didn't see the man withdraw a handgun from his jacket and bring it up to the ceiling. People were just beginning to notice him, the realization would start right…about…now.

Shawn looked to the Chief's purse, yes. Her gun was right there. He grabbed it before she could finish turning to see the commotion. There was a shot as the perpetrator blew a hole in the ceiling. Plaster rained onto him. The customers began screaming and diving under their cheap plastic tables like those alone would save them. But Shawn was calm as he raised the gun and flicked the safety off.

"Drop it! Now!" he commanded in his best 'imitating an angry Henry' voice.

The perp was startled. Shawn could see the thought passing through the guy's brain. His plan was falling apart before it even started. What could he do? His eyes looked around desperately and grabbed the first person he could to use as a shield. Which, crappiest luck ever, was the Chief. The perp now elevated to bastard, held the gun to her head.

A little switch, which he never knew existed, flipped in Shawn's mind. The bastard was yelling at him, yelling at everyone. Shawn could see that Karen was more annoyed than anything. She was the chief of police, she wasn't going to be frightened by a punk with a gun, her newborn with colic was more frightening. Just like that, Shawn saw the thought of Iris cross the Chief's mind.

"Drop the gun or I'll shoot." There, no one could say Shawn hadn't warned him. Little Iris wasn't old enough to remember her mother if she died now.

"Drop it or I'll kill her."

Shawn fired, making a neat hole in the bastard's forehead. The man fell to the floor dragging Karen down with him. But she stood up and stared at Shawn, like he was something she had never seen before.

A few seconds passed, and he realized he was still holding the gun up. A gun that didn't belong to him. "Sorry," he apologized to the Chief, she never liked it when he touched her stuff. He put the gun down on the counter.

She approached him. "Are you okay?"

"Am I okay?" How ridiculous. "You were the one…and then…It's just…oh god." He turned and puked up the remains of his lunch from hours before.

He felt her rubbing his back in little circles as she led him away from the sight. He sat near the bathrooms, and put his head on the table-top. Within minutes he heard the sirens from approaching police cars. Someone must have called it in. Probably one of the customers, because the chief was still sitting with him and he hadn't heard her call anyone.

Hours later, at the station, everyone was calling him a hero, praising him for saving the day, for saving the chief. Buzz kept mentioning something about medals, and he just had to get away from it all. Lassiter found him hiding in the little-used bathroom near the janitor's closet. He was the only one who hadn't been praising his actions. Lassiter sat next to him.

"I'm sorry you had to do that."

Shawn looked at him. "Thanks."

He no longer cared that he looked like a demented crustacean. He just wanted to go home, no he wanted to go to his dad's house. As a measure of how crappy he felt, that was a pretty good one.

This day had started out so boringly, too.


End file.
